Burn to Gold and Crumble Away
by Spectering
Summary: Harvey can't let Donna go to prison. AU from 4x14
1. Chapter 1

I just realized that I never posted this here. It is on AO3. It takes place after 4x14. AU from there obviously.

* * *

Harvey pounds on her door so hard that the creepy neighbor down the hall opens his front door for the sole purpose of shooting Harvey a glare. The kid would drive his point home better, Harvey thinks, if he didn't look like his eyes had been pried open with tape as he pulled an all-nighter. Besides, the creepy kid in 210 would forgive Harvey for the noise if he knew the urgency behind it. Harvey's sure of it.

Her name is nearly jumping off of his tongue when the door is opened beneath his open palm and he's left with nothing to pound against. Donna is glaring at him for the noise, but she reaches out, grabs him by the lapels, and tugs him inside. She closes the door behind him. He gets a look at her finally, noting that she doesn't look like she's slept for a second since he last saw her.

"Harvey, what are you doing here at four in the morning?"

He follows her into her living room, lingering in the doorway of the kitchen when she enters it. She flips the light on and he gets a look at her from behind. She isn't wearing any shoes, a cream colored, silk robe hanging off of her shoulders and stopping just above the back of her knees. Her legs are bare and he wonders if she's wearing shorts beneath that thing.

He swallows the thick film of saliva that's gathered in his throat; he says, "We need to talk."

"Right now?"

He gives her a small nod. "It can't wait."

He pushes his sweaty palms down his jean covered thighs to try and dry them but it doesn't help much. It's so cold outside and he's sweating under her gaze, sweating because they both know he's there to tell her the truth they've all been refusing to believe. They both know what the truth is here but they've refused to say it out loud.

"Well?" She challenges, "Out with it."

"Donna," he replies, head tilting ever so slightly as his gaze softens. He balls his fists at his sides and she stops looking at him, begins digging through cabinets above for something. He takes a haphazard step into the lighted kitchen to get her full attention. "This is serious."

She fumbles with the mug in her hand and it falls to the floor, shattering at her bare feet. She angles her body towards his then. She says, "I know it's serious, Harvey. I know. I don't need you to keep telling me that it's so fucking serious."

"Whoa, hey, no, stop," he replies, reaching for her wrists to steady her. His thumb sweeps over the bones in her wrist and her eyes drop to where he's touching her. The expression on her face makes him feel like he's burning her skin beneath his touch. "I just…I can't get you out of this. You're going to go to prison, Donna, and I can't have that. I can't be without you for any length of time if I'm going to be okay."

"Aren't you mad at me?" She asks.

They've been dealing with this for 3 months and he doesn't have the energy to be mad at her anymore, not when the fact that she's going to prison is staring him in the face, taunting him with all of their transgressions. He thinks that she can't keep being their savior, can't keep taking the fall when they've all done wrong. He can't crucify her – let he who is without sin cast the first stone.

"I'm more scared that I'm going to lose you," he admits.

"Harvey," she starts, the glass still in crumbles around her feet, forgotten until this moment, "I've already decided that if the ruling does go in our favor then I'm quitting. I keep doing things for you that I know I shouldn't do. For whatever reason, my feelings get in the way."

"Donna," he replies sternly, "The ruling isn't going to go in our favor."

"I know," she says, lifting her gaze to him.

He can see the tears in her eyes. He hates it. He stares at her then, long and hard, taking in her appearance, noting her disheveled look and the way she's surrounded by a blue ceramic mug that will cut her with one wrong move. He swallows and takes her hand in his.

"Donna, we don't have a choice," he says, "You have to get some things together."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you've committed fraud, we've all committed fraud, and I can't let you be the only person to take the fall for this. You and me, we're going to get in the car and we're going to go. We're going to be long gone before we're supposed to be in court for the ruling and no one will know where to look for us," he answers. He tugs her forward, wrapping his arm around her waist and lifting her to clear her of the broken mug. Once her feet are on the ground on the other side of him closer to the living room, he lets go of her. "You have to pack a bag, some bags, I don't care, get all of your valuables, get your clothes, your shoes, your pictures, your computer, whatever you want, so we can go."

"That's breaking the law," she replies.

He laughs gently, unnoticeably at her statement, and he steps around her as he retraces the memory of her apartment. His urgency places her hot on his heels, and he can hear her behind him as she follows him in the direction of her bedroom. He only turns slightly to glance at her.

He says, "You're not getting it. I can't let you go to prison and I can't keep you from it so this is the only thing I know to do."

"I can't let you go to jail for me," she says.

"Donna," he replies firmly, turning in the doorway of her bedroom. She collides with his chest and he swallows a breath of air, desperate to keep from having the breath knocked out of him. He expels a breath to steady himself. He says, "I'm not losing you."

He bends at his knees to make them eye level as she is much shorter than he is without any shoes on. He pointedly looks her in the eye, not giving her enough wiggle room to continue to protest him any longer. She nods slowly and he offers her a smile.

"Where are your bags?" He asks. She points to her closet and he turns to get her bags down and start packing for her. "You get dressed. I'll start packing."

"Harvey-"

"Go. Now."


	2. Chapter 2

Later on, he realizes, someone will enter her apartment because they can't get into contact with her and they will see the mug shattered on her kitchen floor, her clothing scattered all over the bedroom from all of the times he packed her clothes and she unpacked to repack, her electronics only half-heartedly turned off, and her jewelry missing.

Someone is going to think she was robbed, or worse – kidnapped.

* * *

They've been driving for a little less than 3 hours when the sun begins to peek over the horizon, and the city is a distant memory behind them. Donna has been spiraling for months, if she thinks about it, a series of poor decisions that lead her to the very moment where she's in a classic Mustang beside her boss, running from her mistakes. Yet, she somehow never saw this coming.

She looks at the man beside her, 80s pop music humming quietly from the radio, and she notes the wrinkles on his face, the bags under his eyes. She wants to reach up, drag a hand through his hair, and lull him to sleep. She knows he didn't get any sleep the night before either, that this has been tearing him apart, that he's come so close to saying what she wanted to hear years ago but he hasn't yet.

She doesn't even know what she would do now if he told her what he wanted from her, what he needed. The truth is that she knows, that she doesn't need him to tell her, but it's easy to ignore when he doesn't speak it. Without hearing what he wants, it's almost like it doesn't truly exist, like her brain doesn't register what is shifting for them.

In the morning sun, his face glows a certain amount of yellow, like his skin soaks up the sun and drinks in the vitamin d. She stares at him, elbow pressed against the arm rest on the door, her fingers absently toying with her hair, and her left hand tucked beneath his jacket he'd given to her two hours ago to fend off the air blowing from the vent. He'd told her to get some sleep but, naturally, she didn't listen to him.

She traces the jagged contours of his face, surveys the bags under his eyes, the stress lines that have accumulated over the last few months and she wonders if he's noticed them, if they are all named after her. She wishes she could erase what she did and tuck him into bed for some sleep. Hell, she wishes they could both sleep for a year. (She has to specify that she does not wish they could sleep together for a year, just that they could sleep for a year.) Three months is a long time to go without sleep.

"What?" He asks. His voice is gravely and deep like his vocal cords were dragged across the pavement from the lack of speaking, the lack of sleep.

"I can drive if you want to get some sleep," she answers. He glances at her then, mouth turned into a frown, fingers loose on the steering wheel as his hands come to a rest in his lap. The traffic is starting to pick up about 45 minutes outside of Philadelphia and she thinks he needs a break. "You haven't had any sleep."

"Neither have you," he reminds her.

She nods in acknowledgement, knowing that there's no winning with him this time. She feels like in the last 4 hours, he hasn't given her much choice, just told her what he wanted her to do and pressing until she does it. The weight of his stress, of his worry, presses against her shoulders and, after this, it's going to press there until the day she dies. He will be a wanted felon for harboring a fugitive before the day is over, they will be felons together – a modern day Bonnie and Clyde.

She says, "There's still enough time to turn back."

"We need gas," he replies, ignoring her completely.

* * *

Harvey keeps them on the road until 11, when they're due for court, before he pulls over. Her phone has been going off for the last 3 hours, when they're usually in the office, slaving away over paperwork or other various tasks. She's been deflecting calls from Rachel, Mike, and Louis but it's when Jessica calls that her demeanor changes completely.

She listens to the voicemail, her fingers shaking as Jessica's voice raises an octave with every passing second. Jessica says, _Harvey isn't picking up his phone and your hearing is in five minutes. You are not here and I need you to be here._ And upon Jessica hanging up the phone, Donna looks over at Harvey, his eyes fixated on the traffic in front of him as he weaves in and out of traffic to pull into the diner off of the highway.

The car stops and he shifts the car into park. His gaze shifts to her and their eyes connect. She could guess that her expression makes Harvey's eyebrows knit together, his furrowed brow investigating her with a certain amount of inspection that reveals just how tired he is. She looks at the time on her phone, just after when they were meant to be someplace else, and she knows there's no turning back now.

"Would you put that thing away?" He says, reaching over and prying her phone from her hand. She watches him slip it into the backseat, outside of her reach, and sigh heavily. She feels the tears prick the corners of her eyes and turns her eyes away from him. "I didn't even bring mine. We're going off of the grid completely."

"You make it sound like we're assassins," she retorts.

"Aren't you?" He asks, lips tugging upward in the corners of his mouth. She hasn't seen him smile in months. She offers him a small smile, his fingers finding the key in the ignition to turn the car off. "Let's go grab a bite to eat."

With one last glance behind the seat in the direction of where he disposed her phone, she pushes the car door open and is met with the coldness of the air. She grabs his jacket from the passenger seat where she'd left it and slides it on over her shoulders, following him into the diner. She feels weird in his slightly oversized coat, surrounded in the smell of him, as he's left in only his off white and long sleeved sweater and dark blue jeans.

The waitress seats them in a booth at the back of the diner, away from the brunch rush with his car out of their sight. He sits across from her, the toe of his shoe absently tapping against hers, and she gives him a sharp look upon contact. He stares at her then and she feels like she's on display.

"When are you going to stop for some sleep?" She asks.

"Another couple hours," he answers dismissively.

She sighs then and he turns to the menu pinched between his fingers.

* * *

Harvey pulls into a motel outside of Chicago. They are just north of the city when he decides that he's too tired to muster the patience to sit in any kind of traffic for any given length of time. He nudges Donna awake, curled up under his jacket again on her side of the car, and watches as she slowly peels her eyes open. She takes a good look around, trying to take in her surroundings to see where they are.

"How long have I been asleep?" She asks as she stretches. The back of her hand swipes across her chin. He thinks she's still beautiful without makeup.

"About an hour and a half," he replies, "We're stopping for the night. I can't drive anymore. I'm too tired."

"I can drive," she says.

"You don't know where we are and you also don't know where we're going," he reasons.

She shrugs and says, "You better not be taking me to Canada."

"Well, my plan's out the window," he teases. "You need to sleep in an actual bed. Neither of us appears to be well rested at the moment. We can stop here for the night, rejuvenate, and start again tomorrow."

He pops his car door open to get some things out of the trunk. He pushes the trunk open and hears her open the other door. She stretches in his peripheral vision, her long arms rising high above her head and the hem of her light gray t-shirt sneaks up her torso to rest on her hip. He stares for a moment, taking in the shape of her frame, wondering why he doesn't allow himself to indulge in these moments more often. She catches him staring but he doesn't bother hiding it, just narrows his gaze and swallows.

He finally asks, "Which bag or bags do you need?"

She comes up beside him and points at the ones she needs. He gives her a look at the realization that she wants him to bring in more than half of the bags packed in her trunk. He lightly shakes his head, and pulls her bags out before grabbing his.

"I can do it myself," she says.

"Nonsense," he disagrees, "You wait here and I'll get us a room."

He leaves her standing there, behind the car and surrounded by their bags like she's the muscle protecting their delicate goods, and goes to the front desk to get them a room. The man behind the desk looks sketchy, distracted, like he couldn't care less that he has a customer. Harvey clears his throat to get his attention and that's when he notices that the man is watching baseball on the television.

"Excuse me," Harvey finally says after about a minute of being ignored, "My wife and I need a room for the night."

Harvey's lying but he practiced the line in the car about a hundred times while Donna was sleeping. He came up with an elaborate story for them on the road, one that he hopes can get them through any line of questioning. They are married, they've been married for 10 years, and they're trying to reconnect with a cross-country road trip and a little sight seeing. He already knows that the first mistake he made as a fake husband is not letting his fake wife in on the fake marital backstory.

"Non-smoking?"

"Uh yeah. Non-smoking, please. It bothers the wife," Harvey says convincingly. Although not entirely a lie, the smell of smoke does bother Donna. In response, the man looks at him through his eyelashes, making it obvious to Harvey that he just doesn't care. He absently taps on the counter and reaches into his pocket for his wallet. "How much?"

"Sixty-two a night," the man replies grumpily.

Harvey nods and starts digging through the cash in his wallet, counting the bills out. He fishes through the numerous hundred dollar bills to find some twenties and some one dollar bills to pay the unfriendly man behind the counter. The man exchanges the money for the room key and Harvey is on his way, happy that he doesn't have to see the man again until tomorrow.

The bell by the door rings as he opens it, the door swallowing the sound as it closes behind him. The air is cold and it sends a shiver down his spine, the way she's leaning against his car making him cringe. His emotional attachment to the vehicle is the only reason he still has it otherwise he would have ditched it 200 miles ago. She notices him then and their eyes lock as he closes the distance between them.

She calls, "You get the room?"

"Yeah," he says, picking up his pace so they aren't yelling across the parking lot.

They're in room 2J so he hands her the key and grabs as many of the bags as he can carry. He's surprised that she needs three bags for one night while all of the things he needs are packed into one. He follows her lead up the stairs to their small, cheap motel room. When she pushes the door open, he sees that there's only a queen size bed, two uncomfortable looking wooden chairs by a table, and a dresser with a television on it. He inwardly groans as he considers doing the gentlemanly thing by offering to sleep on the floor. He's curious as to how this is all going to work out.

* * *

He hears the bathroom door squeak over the sound of the television and he peels his eyes open to see her come out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam following close behind her. Her hair looks darker when wet. He realizes he's staring, that he's been doing that more often than usual. When she offers him a small smile, he notices that he fell asleep on the bed and he pushes himself to a sitting position.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep," he announces, "I'll move to the floor."

"Don't be silly, Harvey," she replies, "You're too old to sleep on the floor. You'll wake up hurting. We can share the bed."

"Are you sure?" He asks, glancing at her over his shoulder as he blinks to see clearer.

"Take those pants off and get into bed," she says. Harvey, confused, blinks a few times as his hands fist the comforter. He feels the bed shift on the other side as she sits. She releases a heavy sigh. "On second thought, you might want to keep those pants on. The bedding looks disgusting."

"Sorry, Princess. The Four Seasons isn't an option anymore," he says, shoulders becoming heavy. He kicks off his shoes and returns to his previous position. He tuns his head to look at her, her clothing a pair of black yoga pants and a white tank top. "We'll figure out better arrangements tomorrow. I'm sorry the bedding is so questionable."

"I don't think the bedding is the only thing questionable," she mutters, "You might want to give your towel a thorough once over before you use it."

"Okay," he replies.

His eyes slide closed. She says, "Are you going to shower?"

"In the morning," he replies, "I'm too tired to stand. So unless you want to bathe me, I'm going to postpone it."

"I'll take a raincheck," she teases, "I appreciate the offer though."

"I have something else you can appreciate," he says, rolling over to face her. He can barely peel an eye open to look at her, her face contorted in disgust. He wants to apologize for the conditions but he knows that it would be much worse if they hadn't left when they did. "If you're cold and don't want to chance getting under the blanket, you can use my jacket to sleep."

"I knew I should have brought a blanket," she admits.

He battles a yawn, reaching up to cover his mouth with his right hand and to touch her arm with his left. His thumb sweeps over her forearm, her sharp gaze whipping to him immediately. He started touching her more a few months ago in fear that he would lose her, that if he couldn't touch her than he'd forget what she looked like when she was ripped away from him. She doesn't protest like he'd convinced himself she would.

"We can stop tomorrow to get some bedding stuff," he concedes.

"I don't want you to be cold," she says.

He looks up at her then, tucking his arm beneath the pillow, and scoots a little closer to the middle of the bed. He considers pulling her closer to make a point. If he were honest, he would tell her that he's been thinking a lot about what she means to him, that he's had 3 months to think about the urgency of his need for her. Maybe he arrived at the conclusion that they needed to leave the state – the country – too soon, but he's a desperate man and he's unwilling to let the woman he probably loves disappear from his grasp completely.

He says, "We can share. You can keep me warm."

"This was all part of your plan," she baits.

"Get over here," he says, finally reaching across her and pulling her towards the middle of the bed. She's reluctant as he grabs his jacket off of the foot of the bed and drapes it over her. He huddles closer but keeps his hands to himself. "It isn't a big deal. We don't have to make it a thing."

She laughs but he closes his eyes. He can't see her anymore. She says, "I will be so much happier when we don't have to huddle together for warmth."

"I know, it's awful," he grumbles.

"If you weren't so ugly, it wouldn't be so bad," she says.

The glow on the otherside of his eyelids disappear and she lays down beside him. His chin is close to her shoulder and he's forced to inhale her the scent in her hair. He thinks, if only it weren't so complicated.


End file.
